CHAPTER TWO
[ broken things ]
SHE VISITED BRAN ONCE EACH DAY. Her younger brother, though always surefooted and careful, had fallen from a tower days previously. He had been asleep ever since, and their mother had not left his side. Once each day, Asena visited him, kept Catelyn company, and told him stories she hoped he could hear.
When she left for the night a few days after the king's party— accompanied by much of her family— had departed, she heard the shouts. Screams of 'fire! fire!' echoed through Winterfell, and she and everyone else went running. Once the fire was out, and Asena and Robb were standing together in the courtyard, they heard a commotion from inside. Bran's bedchamber.
They ran, as fast as they could, and found Catelyn, hands bloodied, with a man dead on the floor. An assassin.
Those most trusted met in the Godswood the next morning. Asena, Robb, Catelyn, Theon, Maester Luwin, and Rodrik Cassel all gathered in a circle with Catelyn taking the lead. It is here that she declared that she believed the Lannisters made an attempt on Bran's life for seeing something he should not have seen, and that she was travelling down to King's Landing to get answers.
It was only days after Catelyn left for King's Landing that Bran woke, and not long after that that Tyrion Lannister arrived at Winterfell, on his way back south from the Wall. Asena was seated to Robb's right when Tyrion was escorted into the hall, along with a man from the Night's Watch. "I must say, I received a slightly warmer welcome on my last visit," were Tyrion's first words to Robb.
"Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome at Winterfell," was Robb's cold response.
"Any man of the Night's Watch, but not I, eh, boy?"
"I'm not your boy, Lannister. I'm lord of Winterfell while my father is away."
"You might learn a lord's courtesy," Tyrion responded, quick and pointed. He was right, though, Asena knew. Tyrion might have been a Lannister, but he was a lord and a guest. It was then that the door opened, and Hodor carried Bran, cradled in his arms, inside. "So it's true," Tyrion muttered, staring at the boy. "Hello, Bran. Do you remember anything about what happened?"
"He has no memory of that day," Maester Luwin answered for him.
"Curious."
"Why are you here?" Robb asked, impatience building inside of him. A trait unbecoming of a lord. Remembering her father's words, she laid a hand on her brother's arm underneath the table, silently cautioning him to be more patient.
Tyrion ignored him, instead speaking to Bran. "Would your charming companion be so kind as to kneel? My neck is beginning to hurt." Bran complied, telling Hodor to kneel so they were level with one another. "Do you like to ride, Bran?"
"Yes," Bran answered without hesitation. It had always been one of the boy's favourite pastimes. "Well I mean, I did like to."
"The boy has lost the use of his legs," Maester Luwin informed him.
"What of it? With the right horse and saddle, even a cripple can ride."
"I'm not a cripple," Bran said, clearly hurt.
"Then I'm not a dwarf," Tyrion quipped in return. "My father will rejoice to hear it. I have a gift for you," he added then, producing a slip of paper and handing it to Bran. "Give that to your saddler. He'll provide the rest. You must shape the horse to the rider," he explained. "Start with a yearling. Teach it to respond to the reins and the boy's voice."
Bran studied the paper, before looking up at Tyrion with hopeful eyes. "Will I really be able to ride?"
"You will. On horseback you'll be as tall as any of them."
It was a strange bit of kindness, but a welcome one, for the look in Bran's eyes alone. Seeing him so downtrodden in the past few days had broken Asena's heart.
"Is this some kind of trick?" Robb asked, still cold as ever. Only seeing the lion, and not the kindness he had shown their brother. "Why d'you want to help him?"
"I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things." She knew it, then. This Lannister was quite unlike the others.
"You've done my brother a kindness. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours."
"Spare me your false courtesies, Lord Stark," Tyrion told him, exhausted, and Asena could not blame him for it. "There's a brothel outside your walls. There I'll find a bed and both of us can sleep easier."
Tyrion turned and exits the hall, and Asena excused herself from the table. She followed the lord to the courtyard, where his horse awaited him. "My lord," she called, quickening her pace, "my lord."
He paused his steps and turned to meet her calls. "My lady. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"A word, please," she requested. He nodded once, and dismissed his men, though hers stayed, lingering along the walls. A frustrated sigh passed her lips and she told them, "you have all seen me wield a sword countless times. Do you truly think that were he to attack me, I would be harmed?"
That was enough to convince them. In moments, they were alone. "My brother has yet to learn that to say the words 'thank you' is not weakness," she explained, "so I will say them on his behalf. Thank you, my lord, for the kindness you have done my brother. I have not seen him so happy since before his fall."
"It was my pleasure, my lady."
"Then I will leave you to retire to the brothel." She turned to leave, but his next words stop her.
"Jon Snow is a fool."
"I beg your pardon?" She turned her body back around to face him.
"Jon Snow is a fool," he repeated, but this time with more conviction and a smile. "I was with him on the Wall for a few days. When I left, he asked me to deliver a message to you. It was only this: that he misses you."
Jon. Her heart ached at the thought of him. "And why should that make him a fool?"
"What kind of message is that, for the woman you love?" He asked, and it stopped her heart beating as fear gripped it in its firm grasp. The second Lannister in only so many days.
"I am afraid I do not know what you mean, my lord."
"Please, do give me some credit. Your eyes are a very vibrant violet, you and your supposed twin brother do not look nearly the same age, and they never found the body of the princess that was supposedly slain by my father's men. If you do not think I could assemble the pieces of that exceedingly simple puzzle, then I have severely understated my intelligence."
Her words stuck in her throat, fear's grip still around her heart, as she asked, "and what does this have to do with Jon?"
"An even simpler puzzle," he said. "Any man with eyes could see how Jon Snow loves you."
"Yes, well, it hardly matters now, does it? No matter what happens, we will never be together."
"It does matter," he argued. "I firmly believe, that no matter who or when or how, a woman should at least once in her life be told that she is loved by the man she is in love with."
"I know that he loves me."
"Yes, but has he told you?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"Just as I said: Jon Snow is a fool."
His quip made her laugh, just a little. But soon she remembered who it was she was speaking to, and the fear squeezed her heart again. "My lord, I beg of you," she began, "tell no one of this. Please."
"I have nothing to gain from the death of a young woman, Princess." Princess. The second time in weeks that title had been brought up, after seventeen years.
"Thank you, my lord," she breathed, relief flooding through her. "For everything."
"It was my pleasure," he said again. "I only hope that the next time we meet, it is not Asena Stark that I speak to."
Her brows furrowed, not quite understanding what he meant. "What do you take me for, my lord?"
"I take you for a queen," he answered, as if it was simple. "Good day, my lady."
Before she could blink he had climbed on his horse, summoned his men back, and ridden away.
THE NEXT WEEKS WERE A BARRAGE OF TERRIBLE THINGS. Their father was attacked by Jaime Lannister in the streets of King's Landing, and Bran was attacked in the woods by wildlings. The one piece of news to bring her joy, the news of the death of the Usurper, Robert Baratheon, was sullied by the accompanying news of their father being thrown in a cell for treason, of all things.
It was Robb's decision to call the banners, and march for King's Landing.
Perhaps if it had been something else, someone else, Asena might have tried talking sense into him. Might have told him that fighting the Lannisters was a losing battle, that it could never be done. But it was their father, and on this matter she was just as senseless as her brother.
They did not leave for a few days, and so now she sat at her desk, a letter clutched in her hand. It was from her father, sent before he was seized and locked away, before the king died, before he was attacked. It read:
My daughter,
I should have told you this long ago, but I am telling you now. You are not alone. Dragons still live, across the narrow sea. Ask Maester Luwin, he will tell you more.
She had gone to Maester Luwin shortly before they departed, looking for answers. The maester had given her those answers, just as her father had said he would.
"Your mother and brother escaped King's Landing before Tywin Lannister arrived," he had explained. "They must not have been able to find you and left while they could. Your mother was pregnant, and died giving birth on Dragonstone. Your brother, Viserys, and sister, Daenerys, live now across the narrow sea."
My sister. She could not believe it, even days later. Her brother and sister still lived. She had a sister. She had wondered ever since Maester Luwin told her this what her sister might look like, might be like. Does she look like mother? Like Rhaegar? Is she sweet or strong or courageous or, gods forbid, mad like father? She did not think she could bear it if her sister ended up like her father.
Will I ever get to see her? She wondered still. Once this war is over, she decided, if I still live, I will buy passage on a ship across the Narrow Sea to find her.
She set the letter down, and made for the hall, where Robb was feasting Winterfell's newly arrived bannermen. Once there, she greeted each lord as she walked down the length of the table, before taking her place in the chair to Robb's right. Hardly a second after she seated herself, Greatjon Umber, at the opposite end of the table from Robb, started on about how it was he that would lead the vanguard.
"No, my lord," Robb stopped him, before he could get going, "you will not."
"Then who, my lord?" The Greatjon was angry, though he was doing his very best to hide it out of respect.
"My sister, Lady Asena Stark." The uproar began, and she was certain she had heard it wrong. It was loud, so loud that she could trust what her own ears heard. She looked over at Robb from her place to his right, attempting to discern what he'd said over the roar of the angry lords. "Enough!" Robb shouted then, his voice carrying over the crowd and instantly silencing them.
"My lord," Lord Umber began, "all due respect, a girl cannot lead the vanguard."
"Not a girl, my lord. A lady of Winterfell, and the finest warrior I have ever seen," Robb replied. "If any man in this room can best her, I will change my mind."
"Robb," Asena interrupted, "please. You need not do this. This is not my wish."
She had never been in a battle, had no mind for strategy. She could fight, yes, but she had never been in a true fight, only against her brothers and Jon, none of whom would ever do her true harm. It was madness, this idea of Robb's, but he needed his sister at his side more than a seasoned warrior.
"You are the right person to lead, Asena. I need you for this," he told her, and the way he said it convinced her.
"Very well. I will do it."
Robb directed them all outside, and each and every lord followed. They gathered in a circle in the yard, with Asena in the centre. She drew her sword, and readied herself.
The first man into the circle was Lord Umber. The old man was large and strong, but Asena had him on his back in ten minutes. Lord Glover took longer, almost fifteen. The rest of the lords took only five each. Theon, the fool who knew how easily she could best him, went down in three.
When the last lord was on his back with her sword tip at his throat, Robb stepped forward. "As you all can see," he begins, "Lady Asena is a warrior who can best all the lords of the North. It is she who will lead the vanguard. You will respect her authority, and obey her orders. If you do not, the next fight you have will be with me."
Though this was not what she wanted, nor anything she would have asked for, pride swelled in her chest at his faith in her.
THEY MARCHED TWO DAYS LATER. Their first encampment was in the Neck, the large host twenty-thousand strong. It gave Asena immeasurable pride, the knowledge that these men marched for her father, for her house.
They met their mother there, on her way back from the South. She felt stronger, with another Stark among them. If only her father was there.
They captured a Lannister scout a few days in, and Robb, much to the dismay of the lords, sent him away to tell Tywin Lannister of their twenty-thousand men, and that they were coming for him. Tell Lord Tywin that winter is coming for him, was how Robb had put it, in the whisper that Asena had just barely heard.
The lords were up in arms over this, but Asena, knowing her brother, grasped his plan. It impressed her to no end how swiftly he thought of it. She congratulated Robb on it, when they were alone.
"I am impressed, brother," she said once the last lord has left the tent.
"What do you mean?" He asked, as if he did not know.
"Telling the boy to tell Tywin we are coming," she clarified. "That was smart. You will send how many to Tywin, then? Two-thousand? And the rest to crush the Kingslayer."
"Aye," he answered, nodding. "If I have the nerve."
"Sending two-thousand men into certain death will not be easy," she admitted. "But wars are not won by taking the easy way out."
"I know." He nodded his head, and even then, only days in, she realized how much older he looked. "But those men, their families. . ."
"Their families will live because of their sacrifice."
"But if we lose this war, then they died for nothing."
"That is why we must not lose. For father, for Sansa and Arya, and for every man, woman, and child in the North."
"For the North," Robb echoed, and took her hand in his, squeezing gently.
"For the North," she repeated, and squeezed it back.
IN ORDER TO PASS THE TWINS, ROBB HAD TO MAKE SACRIFICES. Walder Frey, lord of the Twins, whom their mother had gone to negotiate with, had terms with which he must comply before they could pass. He must marry one of Frey's daughters, and take two of his sons as squires, with a knighthood for each in the future.
Robb was reluctant, as anyone would be, but agreed. They had to pass the Twins, no matter the cost.
Once they passed by the Twins, the real war began. Robb sent two thousand men to Tywin Lannister, and the other eighteen thousand marched with he and Asena at the front to Jaime Lannister.
The battle was exhilarating. On the field with a sword in her hand, Asena was unstoppable. As was the entirety of the Stark host. They followed her command, and by the end of the day, they had hacked apart the Kingslayer's army. A victory.
It was Asena herself that captured the Kingslayer, and dragged him to the other lords to be put in irons. Nothing would have pleased her more than to put her sword through his gut, but she knew he must be kept alive. It was quite possibly the only way they would ever see Sansa and Arya again.
She rode back to their encampment at Robb's side atop her horse— a pitch black destrier she had named Warrior— and with him met their mother just outside the camp. Catelyn Stark's eyes were wide at the sight of her coated in Lannister blood and muck from the field, and even more so at the smile on her face.
Robb was not so happy. The men he sent to Tywin Lannister would forever haunt him, the weight of their deaths weighing heavy on his shoulders.
Asena tied her horse up and made her way to her tent, pitched next to Robb's. She passed the lords on her way, and each one gave her an approving nod and a slap on the back.
"Not bad, my lady," Greatjon Umber said. "Not bad at all."
"A decisive victory for a first battle," Galbart Glover told her.
Dacey Mormont, heir of House Mormont, as well as the only other fighting woman in camp, approached her with a broad grin, just as covered in blood and shit as she is. "You were brilliant, my lady," she praised, and shook Asena's hand.
"Just Asena, please," she replied. "And thank you, my lady."
"Dacey," the other girl corrected, and there was a ferociousness in her eyes that made Asena certain they would be good friends.
IT WAS NOT LONG AFTER THAT VICTORY THAT THEY RECEIVED THE NEWS. Ned Stark was dead, beheaded by the new King Joffrey for his supposed treason. The camp turned from a celebration to a funeral, deathly silent.
The men stepped aside for her when she walked by, bowing their heads and muttering their condolences. Robb was gone, nowhere to be found. Catelyn, too. She was all that remained, and even she had had enough. Enough of the silence, the sickening, deafening silence, and the pitying stares that accompanied it.
She retreated into the woods, hoping to find some solace. When she was far enough away, she allowed herself to cry.
Grief took hold of her, and she let it. She leaned back against the trunk of a tree, and slid down until she was on the ground, sobs wracking her body as it hit her, fully, what had happened. Her father was gone.
And he had been her father. More than the father of her birth had ever been. Ned Stark had been the one to hold her when she cried, to care for her, to teach her how to use a sword, to give her a family after hers had been destroyed. Just because you are not of my blood, does not mean you are not my daughter. You are. And she was proud to be Ned Stark's daughter. This news had struck her heart, a heart that had been broken so many times already.
She heard a hacking sound from deeper in the woods, accompanied by anguished sobs. Robb. Slowly, she eased herself up onto her feet, and followed the sound.
She found him crying and hacking at a tree with his sword, angry and sad, all at once. "Robb," she said, trying to get his attention, "Robb!" His sword stilled, and he looked over at her. Once his eyes fell on her face, he dropped his sword in the dirt and ran to her, encasing her in his arms and dropping his head onto her shoulder. Her arms wrapped around him in return, and they cried together.
"I'll kill them all," he muttered, voice muffled by her shirt. "I swear it, I'll kill them all."
"We will," she told him. "For this, we will kill them all. Every last one."
She truly meant these words, more than anything she had ever said. They were all going to die for this.